“And he wouldn’t?” interposed Dorothy swiftly and in surprise.
Lance shook his head.
“Larrimer—that’s the man he was with—didn’t give him much chance. Whisked him off almost before I had finished speakin’. Ain’t got no manners, that guy ain’t.” He chuckled reminiscently, but Dorothy was very far from seeing any joke in what he had said.
“But I don’t understand, Lance,” she said, bewildered. “Why was my brother—why was Joe in the company of this man?”
“Picked him up, probably, Miss Dale,” returned Lance, his voice softening to a tone of sympathy. “The boy was probably hungry——”
“Probably he was!” Dorothy interrupted, with a half sob.
“When I first saw them they was comin’ out of Hicks’ chop house and the lad was wipin’ his mouth on his handkerchief. After that your brother Joe probably thought Larrimer was a mighty slick feller—which he is,” the cowboy added, with another of his slow chuckles.
“Who is Larrimer, if you don’t mind relieving our curiosity?” asked Tavia who, up to this time, had been too interested in the conversation to join it. “You needn’t keep all your jokes to yourself, Lance.”
“He ain’t no joke, Larrimer ain’t,” retorted Lance, suddenly grim. “He’s the meanest guy that ever busted an honest broncho. Yes, ma’am, Larrimer is worse than the plague, him and his swell pals, Stiffbold and Lightly.”
“Stiffbold and Lightly,” repeated Dorothy thoughtfully, then added, with another swift rush of apprehension. “Oh, those are the two men who have been making so much trouble for Garry. After his land—and everything.”